


Dreaming Android

by phasmachina



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6387091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phasmachina/pseuds/phasmachina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the surface, Mettaton and Napstablook have a talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming Android

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [ゆめみるきかい](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/185779) by 木が三つ (https://moribundsun.tumblr.com/). 



The moment he first laid eyes on the sun, Mettaton developed the unshakable conviction that he would become just as big of a success on the surface as he had been underground. He was utterly enchanted by the massive spotlight in the sky; never had he known one so beautiful, so dazzling, and so generous as to bestow its light equally upon everyone. And he was sure that such a magnificent spotlight would only serve to further highlight the brilliance of an existence as fabulous as his own. 

Founded upon an astronomical misunderstanding and more than a little narcissism, this conviction nonetheless became the driving force behind Mettaton’s tireless pursuit of his dreams. He’d always possessed talent and charisma, and now he no longer knew the meaning of defeat. Unfazed by even the intense scrutiny of curious human eyes, he spared no effort in the name of establishing his supremacy in the world of show business, and in due time became one of the surface’s most famous pop stars. His was the stage that monsters, humans, everyone craved. 

Meanwhile, for all that he seemed to be flying high and living large, Mettaton still found himself plagued by a single lingering concern. 

That concern was none other than the ongoing psychological decline of his exclusive DJ, Napstablook. 

The taciturn ghost had always been a melancholic sort; it was not unusual for them to withdraw from their surroundings to mope in a dark, secluded corner. Even so, nothing in their reclusive routines had ever approached the consummate listlessness they displayed as of late. For reasons unknown to Mettaton, the more his project with Napstablook garnered attention and success, the less Napstablook seemed to care, even for the praise their music had received. He half-suspected them of being just days away from fading into oblivion. 

Unable to voice his worries, the star opted instead for an intense bout of fretting in vain. As much as he ached to do everything within his power to alleviate the ghost’s distress, his gnawing anxiety stood no chance against his unbridled terror at the prospect of bridging the gaping emotional chasm between them. 

For Mettaton knew all too well who had dug that chasm in the first place. Upon receiving his body from Alphys, he had been overjoyed to finally attain corporeality and become the “self” he had always envisioned. His life had at last begun in the truest sense. The price? Nothing more and nothing less than his connection to Napstablook. His current form was “Mettaton” in everyone’s eyes - what part of this “self” could still be called Napstablook’s cousin? 

Swept up in his endlessly eddying doubts, Mettaton recalled that he alone bore the blame for exacerbating Napstablook’s loneliness. He was the one who had so easily turned a deaf ear to all their pleas for him to stay, so what right did he have to waltz back in and grant them happiness now? 

Mettaton spent several nights waiting for his chest plate to tear off beneath the weight of his anguish. More than once he had considered just biting the bullet, revealing himself, and apologizing, but each time his intentions withered before the apocalyptic vision of Napstablook’s rejection. 

Nonetheless, he could not stand around twiddling his gloved thumbs while his DJ suffered. If he had no hope of approaching them as a friend, he vowed to at least ask about their troubles as a colleague. 

And so came a day when Mettaton got his chance to be alone with Napstablook. The rehearsal for the next day’s big show had just wrapped up and the rest of the band members and staff were dispersing; only Napstablook remained on stage. 

Mettaton approached slowly. Aside from his limbs’ anxious creaking, he was the picture of suave congeniality as he called out to the ghost. 

“Hey there… Something the matter?” 

Napstablook was floating gently on their back a few inches above center stage, just beside the microphone stand. Mettaton immediately recognized the meditative tradition of the Blook family: Generations of ghost cousins had consoled themselves by adopting the feelings of garbage, connecting with their inner universe, and deeply acknowledging their own insignificance in the grand scheme of things. 

Mettaton leapt deftly onto the stage. Perhaps due to an excess of concentration, Napstablook did not so much as register the robot’s presence, even as the latter peered down into their face. 

“Planning to continue your nap? In that case, shall I offer you use of these fine legs? You’ll quite literally be lying in the lap of luxury.” Mettaton’s voice danced with gentle mischief as he crossed said legs to make them appear all the more conspicuously long and beautiful. He then spread his arms wide, his entire demeanor that of a courting peacock. 

The ostentatious display had just enough impact to shake Napstablook out of their trance. The ghost rose with a start, murmuring panicked apologies for their rudeness. Then, haltingly, “Thank you, but… Umm… I just got done feeling like garbage so… It’s okay…” 

 _Oh Blooky, Blooky – trust me, I know. We used to spend countless hours doing that very thing._ Mettaton kept the reply sealed within his heart-shaped core. In its place, he flashed his most scintillating smile. 

“Seems like something’s been eating your ghost sandwich lately, Napstablook. If anything’s the matter, would you mind letting me hear about it? After all, you and I and Shyren—whoopsie, almost forgot Burgerpants—are a team, no?” Mettaton paused, peering intently at his conversational partner for a sign of agreement. 

Napstablook’s eyes began welling up as they returned Mettaton’s gaze, but the ghost made no attempt to speak. Mettaton shrugged and continued. 

“Or could it be, your complaint lies with yours truly? Are you tired of performing with us like this? Have I done something to make you unhappy?” 

The ghost’s normally immobile features configured themselves into a blatantly bewildered expression. Napstablook sagged apologetically away from their interrogator, keeping their mouth firmly closed. 

Mettaton began to grow uneasy. Sure, he had mustered the courage to spark up a conversation, but Napstablook didn’t seem to have any interest in it. Had he hurt their feelings? Unease turned to fear. What if this made Napstablook hate him even as Mettaton? Then what would he do? Countless hypotheticals raced through Mettaton’s mind, each darker than the last. 

The uncomfortable silence deepened between them. 

Just at that moment, Napstablook suddenly gave a small shake of their head. Whatever else their silence had signified, it seemed to have involved no small amount of self-encouragement. 

“That’s not it……” Napstablook whispered, their voice as fragile as the murmurs of the Echo Flowers that bloomed all over Waterfall. The ghost strained desperately to string more words together. 

“I, I’m happy but… In the face of all that happiness… I just…. I get cold feet… I mean, I know I don’t really have feet…” As soon as they finished the last word, Napstablook fell silent. They seemed unable to decide whether or not to speak again. 

Mettaton sat down next to Napstablook and urged them to continue, placing his right hand where a shoulder might have been as encouragement. Reassured by the weight of the mechanical palm, Napstablook gave a small nod and tentatively raised their quavering voice once more. 

“Umm… I… had a cousin…” 

Mettaton’s eyes widened at the unexpected words. The soul that had been sealed into his body by Alphys began throbbing as never before, clanging from within against the steel plating. Mettaton lowered his head to avoid revealing his shock and the bangs covering half his face dangled even further down, completely obscuring his expression.

But if only he could have, Mettaton would have cried out on the spot: 

 _Blooky, I’m right here! Your cousin is right here!_  

The tale issuing from Napstablook’s mouth was filled with things that Mettaton knew all too well: the fact that their family had run a snail farm, the fact that their cousin had lived next door and been their dearest friend, the fact that they had enjoyed forming a band with said cousin and Shyren, the fact that although they had never criticized their cousin for wanting to go to the surface they might have unconsciously hurt them, the fact that they had begged said cousin to stay for their sake, the fact that they had been so afraid of being alone… 

“Then finally … My cousin left home…” At this point in the story, a few fat teardrops plopped from Napstablook’s cavernous eyes. 

Mettaton’s heart ached. His cousin had always been one to cry at even the smallest things, but this was the first time Mettaton had seen them so wretchedly despondent. 

“Back then… I… All I cared about was… My own loneliness…” Finally, Napstablook began to tell of what had happened to them after their cousin disappeared. All were things that Mettaton had absolutely no way of knowing. 

For a long time after their cousin had gone off the map, Napstablook had no desire to do anything. They merely went through the motions of caring for the snails, and left their mix CDs untouched. And because all reminders of their cousin made them sad, they naturally avoided seeing Shyren as well. 

Nonetheless, Napstablook gradually grew used to their loneliness. Compared to the sorrow of losing their friend, solitude was not nearly as formidable a foe. They resumed work on their mixes, and began taking quick breathers in a deserted area of the Ruins on a daily basis. Around the same time, Mettaton’s television show began airing. Watching Mettaton’s verbal flourishes and sprightly movements somehow made Napstablook feel a little better. 

One night, they steeled their resolve, and visited their cousin’s emptied room. 

Much to Napstablook’s wonder, a certain liveliness still lingered in the air. The room with its pink motif seemed almost too ornate to be the dwelling of a ghost. On the floor lay five diaries arranged in the manner of _objets d’art_ , and on the wall hung a poster depicting a dazzling human couple. 

After taking a long look around the room, Napstablook lay down on the bed and attempted the usual act of feeling like garbage. However, perhaps because their thoughts kept straying to the bed’s former owner, they were unable to concentrate. As they struggled between self-consciousness and self-effacement, their mind was suddenly flooded with frighteningly vivid images that bore no resemblance to the ones usually emitted by their own feelings of worthlessness. These new images somehow seemed to be coming from the diaries, and something deep in their ectoplasm told them they were seeing their cousin’s heart. And so they closed their eyes, and reached out to their cousin’s heart with their own. 

Their cousin had been in so much pain. Without a corporeal form, their self was not a true “self” at all, merely incomplete. To their cousin, being born a ghost was an altogether far too cruel and infinitely unreasonable reality. The brunt of said cousin’s rage became squarely self-directed, driving them to desire nothing less than the complete destruction of their own identity. 

“Oh… That pain….! I… That was when, I finally knew…” Napstablook at last began to cry in earnest. Their tears poured down like rain upon Mettaton. 

“They… had the right to be what they wanted… No one can take that away… They… might have gone off somewhere to make their dreams come true but… I don’t hate them for it at all… Right now I…. I’m proud of their courage…” 

“Blooky….” 

“Oh, Mettaton… My cousin used to call me that too….” 

Mettaton said nothing. Instead, he simply wrapped his arms around Napstablook, and held them tightly. The two of them continued talking, each taking solace in the other’s presence.

“I wasn’t able… to notice my cousin’s pain… I feel like that… was what dealt the final blow… Do you think it’s okay… for someone like me to be happy…?”

“Blooky, you absolutely _have_ to be.” 

“Mettaton, do you think my cousin… is also living happily up here…?” 

“With a friend like you, Blooky, how could they not be?” Mettaton spoke with the conviction of the only person who knew just how true those words were.  

“If I find my cousin… Will you let them join this project….? I’m sure you’d…. like them too…” 

“Of course. I promise.” 

“I’m glad… I, I really can’t stand the thought of them not having... a place to belong…” 

 _A place to belong._ The words nearly took Mettaton’s long legs out from under him. 

When the barrier broke, the very first thing Mettaton had done was to meet Napstablook. Greeted by the long-forgotten sight of pastoral scenery that was as monotonous as it was beautiful and tranquil, he had wondered why Napstablook was never able to leave that land. They could have sold or transferred the farm to someone and lived a quiet life somewhere else, so why hadn’t they? Was it because they couldn’t let go of those happy bygone days? Or was it because they were afraid to start anew? 

And now he understood: all those thoughts had been wrong. Aware of Napstablook’s true intentions at last, he immediately grew ashamed of himself for ever believing that the friend he should have cherished was nothing more than a nostalgia-ridden coward. Napstablook could have left at any time; they had simply chosen not to for the sake of ensuring that their cousin had a place to return to if their dreams fell apart or the world left them too beaten to get back up again. 

“Thank you, Mettaton… For hearing me out…” Expression somehow brighter than usual, Napstablook gave the mechanical arm wrapped around their body a few gentle, almost encouraging pats. 

“No, thank you, Napstablook… for talking to me.” Mettaton quietly loosened his embrace, releasing Napstablook. The ghost twirled in the air, catching the illumination of the footlights. Bathed in the glow, the translucent body shone with the same radiance as the sun had in Mettaton’s eyes that first day on the surface. _How wonderful_ , he thought. Every bit as wonderful as the body that Alphys had given him. 

Upon noticing Mettaton’s passionate gaze, Napstablook inexplicably found their body twisting bashfully. Mettaton’s face reddened instantly in response. 

“Umm… Should we head back…?” Napstablook’s suggestion came wrapped in their trademark awkwardness. The conversation had gone on for longer than either of them realized, and it was high time the two of them returned to the hotel for tomorrow’s performance. 

Mettaton, however, declined. 

“You go on ahead.” 

“Why…?” 

“I’ll leave after I practice a bit more for tomorrow,” Mettaton answered somewhat curtly. In fact he longed to walk side-by-side with Napstablook, but was far too embarrassed to turn thought into action. 

“You see, a professional has no room for compromise,” he added in a softer tone as he flung his legs high in a perfect can-can kick and threw a wink at Napstablook. 

Napstablook responded with a smile. The completely unclouded, sunny expression reminded Mettaton of a rainbow after a storm. He remembered how much he loved this smile, and could not understand how he had managed to live with himself for so long after relegating such a beautiful face to oblivion. Mettaton felt something rise up through his chassis into his throat. 

Napstablook’s face in his memories had always been marred by sadness, and only now did he realize that it was all his own doing, the byproduct of immense subconscious guilt. Only now did he remember that Napstablook had actually smiled, even on the very last day they had spent together. 

The lump in his throat now threatening to choke him, Mettaton shook his head vigorously in an attempt to dislodge it. But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a cry of “I never meant for that to happen.” 

And then it was Napstablook’s turn to encourage Mettaton, gently enveloping him in their soft gaze. The entity reflected in the fathomless depths of those pupils was a truly gorgeous machine. The shining steel chassis was unmistakably that of Mettaton. At the same time, the invisible things pulsing within that steel—soul, memory, emotion—those, too, were undoubtedly Mettaton’s and Mettaton’s alone. All of a sudden, Mettaton understood who his “self” truly was. He had never become someone else, let alone a “someone else” named Mettaton. No matter what his name was, his “self” had only ever been himself. The fact that he was Napstablook’s irreplaceable friend and beloved cousin had never changed. His long and winding path had finally led him to his true form, made of all his lived experiences. 

Smiling through his tears, Mettaton said, “I guess I have something I need to tell you, too.” 

Napstablook gently squeezed Mettaton’s hand, and the frail touch was enough to convince him that everything was going to be okay. The two of them had suffered more than enough. They needed to be happy together; they needed to live together once more. Now was the time. Now, or never. 

And so Mettaton’s metallic voice began to sing. 

“Oh my Blooky, my beloved Blooky, I—”


End file.
